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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29063208">moonrise avenue</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrmeraki/pseuds/myrmeraki'>myrmeraki</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The West Wing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(on the car), Again, Angst, First Bartlet Campaign, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hotels, Inspired by Richard Siken, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Making Out, Pre-Canon, Secret Relationship, Stargazing, do they steal this bartlet for america car?, does this count as stealing?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:28:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,251</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29063208</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrmeraki/pseuds/myrmeraki</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A snapshot from the Bartlet For America's first campaign trail if Sam and Josh were in a semi-established yet secret relationship. A thought process of what happens when you won't give up politics for the man you love, and he would never want you to. They're already living on borrowed time but that doesn't mean they can't pretend otherwise.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Josh Lyman/Sam Seaborn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>moonrise avenue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>"You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you’ve done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you’re tired." </p>
<p>and</p>
<p>"We were in the gold room where everyone finally gets what they want, so I said What do you want, sweetheart? and you said Kiss me."</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Sam Seaborn has been, for all his life, constructed primarily of wishes. He lives and thrives in the moment of taking in a breath as the candle flutters, lungs crammed with air just before fire turns to smoke. It was never the lack of decisions that confused him like so many of his friends, classmates, coworkers. It was the quantity and quality of every path to be taken. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All he knows is the wish. All he knows is the goal. All he knows is the waiting, the cutting and overwhelming weight of pure and unadulterated want. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam is made of “what’s next?”s. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he was in eighth grade Sam read The Bell Jar during a series of lunches, and in between bites of turkey and cheese sandwiches and hiding under bleachers of the baseball fields, he began to paint a picture of himself. More accurately, he un-painted his picture. With a paint-knife and scalpel, he scrapped away at the layers of oil paint and got turpentine under his fingernails in the process. He was Esther, and he was the fig tree, and he was each and every fig begging to be surrounded to the gravity of choice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was thirteen and two months, and his favorite movie was Aristocrats, and his favorite place was his Grandmother’s backyard, and there were certain things he was sure on because you do not get to be thirteen and two months taking solace in the trees and in cartoons and not know things about this world. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam knew he wanted to work in the California Governor’s Office because his Grandmother would yell at the TV and the newspapers and tell him, “Samuel get down from there and come listen to this one!” And he loved to listen, and to watch, and to think about what he wanted to do. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam knew he wanted to write great things, things that would make people feel like he did when he picked up his father’s old books and cried with the discovery of Washington and Churchill, and Lincoln. Sam knew he wanted to keep a notebook on him at all times, and when that was taken from him by taller boys or teachers that didn’t take kindly to writing during Biology, he’d trace invisible letters on his desk and put pen to the backs of his hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam knew he was in love with the world and everything in it, and from the moment he could walk and talk he’d fallen hard for the ocean and the trees and the flowers and the sidewalks and the starts- most of all, more than anything the stars.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Sam knew at thirteen and four months that he could never have all of it because he didn’t want to hold Fionn’s hand at the dance, he didn’t want to go to the dance, instead, he wanted to press his mouth to Ethan Kaiba’s mouth, and that meant he was dead and buried anyway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So Sam lives on wishes and wanting, because the pit in his stomach from an artificial hunger is as familiar as his heartbeat. He’s smart, he won’t rob himself of that through misplaced humility, and you do not get to be Bartlet For America’s deputy speechwriter and prospective Deputy White House Communications Director and not know things about this world. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You can’t have everything. You can’t have it all. But Sam could be selfish and yearn for a dream future all he wanted. A future with the White House, and with legal pads, and suits and smiles and a life to come home to that felt like warm gloves and the press wouldn’t tear apart like a pack of coyotes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For this reasoning, this shaky line of logic that Sam walks across like a tightrope each day, he downs his second cup of coffee and pays for two energy drinks from the hotel vending machine. B4 spits the cans into his hands like chewed bubblegum and Sam almost thanks the machine. It’s a sign that he really will need this drink, and he hopes the coffee will kick in as he makes his way around the corner into the lobby. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s the hours between darkness and day when the sky is at its blackest point and the light pollution is barely beaten back. He knows they only have a few hours before the light pours out again, not from an artificial source but from the rising of the sun. In those few hours all their friends will be restlessly sleeping, most of them still in their work clothes, their minds heavy with overpowered caffeine. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Every now and then, in these devil’s hours, Sam sneaks away and wishes. He’s taken safety in the night and in the sky for as long as he can remember, except these days he’s not alone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Catch,” Sam whispers when he meets Josh in the parking lot, standing next to a Bartlet For America car with no license plate and easy keys. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam tosses the energy drink up and it makes a soft clapping sound as Josh catches it with a smile. He’s tired too, Sam knows him that well and even if he didn’t it’s clear they’re all running on caffeine and fumes. But he still pulls up a smile for him, for Sam, and it’s a third energy source for Sam that was previously unknown to mankind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where are we going tonight?” Josh says as he opens the passenger-side door for Sam. It’s cheesy and corny and out of character, and as he gets in Sam wishes he could have more of it. He’s greedy for every moment and each time they discover something new, all he does is want more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s find the stars.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This means: let’s find an empty lot or an open field to walk around in so I can kiss you and kiss you and kiss you and pretend the celestial bodies are a good enough audience. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They find the stars. Josh drives them, as he always does, and Sam fights hard not to fall asleep but does, just barely. He knows the roads they took and the sharp turns they made, and he is fully aware of Josh singing along to Bruce Springsteen. Josh is a wonderful singer, by which he means Josh is an average singer and Sam is in love with him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re here.” Josh shakes Sam’s shoulders and Sam nods, not wanting to leave the half-sleep state. It’s the most rest he’d get tonight, and though he feels bad that he stole something and Josh didn’t, he’s still selfish. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If he wants more robbery, here they are. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Josh has pulled them into an open field shielded from the highway by a thin line of trees. Sam thinks it looks and feels like hiding backstage before curtain call, not quite ready for the playing-pretend to be over. He gets the uneasy image of the trees being yanked out of the ground by an invisible force, and all the eyes of the world turning to them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sam,” Josh says and shakes him again. “If you’re just gonna sleep I’m taking you back to the hotel.”</span>
</p>
<p><span>That gets him up. Sam shakes his head and cracks open his energy drink. Josh has almost finished his. It tastes like </span>saccharin and taurine and <span>ethyl propionate, and Sam downs half of it in one drink.</span></p>
<p>
  <span>“They taste like shit,” Josh says. He undoes his seatbelt and then presses the button on Sam’s. The belt catches at Sam’s elbow and he works his way out of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re not so bad.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just once I wanna kiss you without it tasting like Splenda,” Josh laughs and tips the rest of his can backward.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam thinks, <em>Just once I wanna kiss you without feeling like it’s a crime, like we’re stealing something like you are not mine and I can’t make myself yours. Just once I want to make a decision that doesn’t have us being cowards or thieves, hiding behind glances in the bus, or taking this from the night. Just once I want to dream of permanence. </em></span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He says, “It’s this or coffee breath unless you want me to brush my teeth before and after.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Josh huffs and laughs at the same time, a movement that makes Sam want to press them chest to chest and feels just how alive and energetic Josh is. Josh isn’t made of wants or dreams. Sam knows he wishes and has fantasies and goals, but he doesn’t let them make him. Josh is made of loud noise and tree roots, and when Sam is flying too high in the sky and choking on the clouds Josh can bring him down to earth. There’s also the rare occasion where they need to get up high to see over the treetops, and that's when Sam can offer Josh a hand as they work their way through the branches.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s the closest you’ve been to the stars?” Sam asks. He doesn’t mean exactly that, he’s tired and slipped into being more dramatic than he usually is, but as always Josh understands him. Sometimes Sam wishes they didn’t fit so well together, it would make the unbearable end more bearable.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A family vacation to Wisconsin, once. I was really little.” Josh gets out and makes his way to the hood of the car. Sam wants to take a picture of him through the front window in his Bartlet t-shirt and fraying jeans, hands in his pockets and his head tilted up to drinking the stars. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam steps out to join him, and for a while, they mirror each other in their observational awe. Sam finds familiar constellations and traces them on the palm of Josh’s hand. He re-writes the lines of Josh’s skin with the patterns of fate until the stars criss-cross each other and he’s mapped the entire night sky. It’s a fitting image: The world, in the hands of his world. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a warm summer night, and in this town, Sam can’t even remember the name of it’s a perfect environment for dreaming. Cicadas and fireflies the occasional shuffling of a small animal provide a soothing backdrop as Sam looks down from the stars and leans his head on Josh’s shoulder. He can feel the warmth of Josh’s skin through his t-shirt. He smells of coffee and soap. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How about you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The stars,” Josh says and wraps an arm around Sam, his hand settling at Sam’s waist. There’s barely an inch of height between them, but moments when Josh gets like this Sam wishes he could make himself just a little smaller if only try and press them closer together.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sailing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Josh snorts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Figures. When?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam suppresses a yawn and plants a kiss on Josh’s shoulder, and then on his neck. He smells more like hotel soap there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“During college. One summer a couple buddies and I took a couple days to sail up from Laguna to San Fransisco.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Was it fun?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam smiled at the memory, of salt on his lips and sore calves and screaming themselves raw. Now he can’t remember the last time he talked to any of his old friends, and he sends a silent plea to the fates at hand that they get their happy endings.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was great. Exhausting. But far out from shore, on the ocean, at night,” Sam trailed off and wrapped both his arms around Josh and nestled further into his shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think it’s gotta be like what the world was before people. I’ve never seen so many stars,” he mumbled into the cotton. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sounds nice.” Josh kissed the top of Sam’s head and Sam bit the inside of his lip, just to check if he needed to wake up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wonder what that would have been like. To turn the clock back and be the only people on earth.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam hummed in answer and kissed Josh’s neck again, taking in the warmth, the smell of his clothes, the taste of sweat on his skin. He closes his eyes. Makes a wish. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll take you someday,” Sam promises without thinking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“To the land before time?” Josh’s voice is breathier, and when Sam looks up Josh is smiling at him. He looks so human and yet so at home among the stars. The small dimple forming on the left side of his face could be a crater or a meteorite. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sailing,” Sam answers and tilts his head up. Josh gets the clue and meets him in a kiss, and he’s right, they do taste artificial. It sours something in Sam, a reminder of how rushed and false this moment is. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t sail.” Josh turns their bodies so they face each other and lean their sides on the car. It makes Sam feel like they’re running away together for good, and he’s surprised by how much he wants it. He shouldn’t be surprised, but he is. When was the last time he didn’t want more? When was the last time he didn’t want Josh? The answer to both of those was never, never except in his nightmares. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll do it. And I’ll teach you.” Sam leans forward so their foreheads press and closes his eyes so that everything is quiet, and everything is Josh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d be terrible.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You would.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’d crash and die. Or get lost at sea.” Josh brings his hands up and holds either side of Sam’s neck. With the summer breeze, one tilted move and they could almost be dancing. It’s just another thing that Sam won’t ever get to do with Josh, and he kicks the thought out of his mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I would never let that happen, are you kidding? I’d ruin my reputation. No one would ever wanna race with me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So I’ll leave all the work to you then?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like that’d be out of the ordinary.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Josh smiles into their kisses, so much so that Sam has to make them stop just so Josh can have his laugh and they can start up again. Josh tastes like taurine and no-sleep, and Sam can’t remember the last time they kissed without feeling so worn down. The tiredness has seeped into their bones, and Sam finds himself wanting desperately to push past it and find something that’s theirs and theirs alone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam slides his tongue in Josh’s mouth, and Josh pulls a hand through his hair, and Sam hops onto the hood of the car so Josh can stand in between his legs. The sweat gathering on his back makes Sam feel like he’s a kid again like he’s back spending summers surfing and sailing and ignoring any moment that didn’t start a fire in him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell me where we’d go.” Josh dipped his head down and attached himself to Sam’s neck, leaving a trail of kisses that are too light and too soft and too invisible. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This is Sam’s area of expertise, his home-field, his original elective. He is nothing if not an amalgam of ideas. He is nothing if not imagination. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam wraps his legs tight around Josh’s waist, earring him a shaky moan and hands under the back of his t-shirt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come here and I’ll tell you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Josh does, and Sam holds him by the back of the neck in a kiss. Perspiration gathers on his forehead and under his hands, and Sam wishes they were younger and more reckless so he could give excuse to taking off their clothes and letting the wind protect them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll take you to Catalina,” Sam finally says in between fevered kisses. Josh nods and pretends like he’s even heard of the place before they get back to it. Sam is still looking, still searching, still trying desperately to get rid of the coffee and the hotel-smell and the fake sugar and the fake plastic and the fake life. Sam thinks maybe if he keeps pressing and them together and Josh keeps drinking him in replacement of an energy drink they’ll find it for real, here and now in this northern field and not in a land of dreams. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“ ’S that in Spain?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For being one of the smartest people Sam knows, Josh Lyman could be pretty thick-skulled. Sam rewards him for his hilarious ignorance by kissing him just below and behind the ear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s an island off the coast of Cali.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm. I knew that.” Josh kisses Sam on the cheek, right under his bone. At the same time, he rocks their hips together, and Sam balls his hands into fists.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re an asshole.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, but I’m yours.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam’s heart turns from thoughts of taking Josh's pants off to thoughts of dropping dead. He wants to beg of him not to make promises he can’t keep and Sam can’t make him keep. He has no idea what he’s saying, even if it’s a joke. They’re well past the point of giving away their hearts, but neither of them can take the other’s, and so they’re left in limbo without a heart and without a donor. It makes Sam wonder, in this imagined equation, where their hearts go if not to each other?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are,” Sam says and instead of faking a smile he grinds their hips together and concentrates on getting sounds from Josh that mean 'love' but doesn’t carry the weight and agony of saying it in traditional language.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll go from Newport to Avalon,” Sam mumbles into Josh’s neck, “It takes seven hours, depending on the wind.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Josh stiffens in surprise, Sam can tell, but he keeps playing along. Sam is an expert in playing pretend. Dreaming is his favorite pastime as of late, and it’s only fair that he let Josh in on it. After all, they are all about him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Where the fuck is Avalon?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It's on Catalina."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Jesus <em>Christ</em>," Josh breathes, and Sam resists the childish urge to say, '</span>
  <em>
    <span>No, it's Sam, have you been cheating on me?' </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Get back in the car," Josh asks suddenly and slows the movement of his hips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam groans and shakes his head on Josh's shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm serious, please?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We're not having sex in the car." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Why not?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam laughs and brings Josh's head up, one hand at the side of his neck and the other on the back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Do you want the reasons alphabetically or in order of importance?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Josh nods.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"This is a campaign car."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You make a good point."  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Let's go back to the hotel." Sam sits up straight and tenses his hands by Josh's neck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Josh frowns, creating lines on his forehead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We can't at the hotel either." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Come back to my room," Sam whispers and places a kiss over Josh's forehead. The top of his head brushes onto Josh's hair, and that too smells like hotel soap. They are, fundamentally, liminal.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Just to sleep. Just stay." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It is hardly riskier than suggesting they have sex in the back of this campaign car or taking the campaign car in the first place. Sam is exhausted in his soul from all the speed and terror and hiding. He wants this, he wants Josh, he wants to play pretend for a few minutes more and he's going to take it. For both of them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam goes for the cheap move and kisses behind Josh's ear again, winding his hand into Josh's curls.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Just stay, okay?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Just stay, just pretend, just lie down with me with our socks on and our sweaty t-shirts</span>
  </em>
  <span>. They could lie back to back, perpetually ready for a fight. They could place a pillow in-between them. Sam could curl up in the chair, or sleep with his head on his desk, he didn't care anymore. He wanted to stop wanting and start having, and he could try. Even if they both knew where this was ending, be in in a month or three months or three years, Sam was going to try. Josh had made him want to try. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Okay."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Josh pulls Sam's head up with his hands and kisses him. His tongue against Sam's bottom lip feels like a victory, it feels like thanking God. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam's knee shakes when he slides off the hood of the car, cursing their brains for overruling their bodies. Josh pokes fun of him as they drive to the nearest fast-food stop. They buy more coffee and a box of donuts, scapegoats denoting an early rise instead of an entire night stolen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They walk like spies through the lobby, the sky turning from midnight blue to a dark grey. The slosh of the coffee they won't drink and the donuts they won't eat for another hour or so sound like bombs in their hands. The elevator dinging is a fire alarm. Sam can't stop imagining walking to his room and everyone on the floor waking up, catching them, even if they've painted a perfect picture of an early morning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They don't even talk once in Sam's room. They mouth their words and whisper as Sam sets down the coffees on top of the mess of papers on his desk. Josh kicks off his shoes and slides them under the bed, again to paint a picture. Sam's heart is pounding out of his ribcage, the bones are cracking, and he wonders what Josh would do about it if Sam's heart jumped out of his body and flew into his hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam checks the clock and sets an alarm for six a.m. They have An hour and ten minutes to squeeze in years worth of words and want and sleep. But this is what they do. They're good at this. The best. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He resists the urge to hold out his arms and say, '<em>Come to bed</em>' as Josh comes back from washing his face. But he imagines it, and the liberty of thought is more than enough. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You set an alarm?" Josh slides into bed and Sam's heart quickens with a jolt. Josh this close and in this setting with their plain replication of domesticity is like a defibrillator to his chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Thanks." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam almost thinks it's creepy if he keeps staring at Josh's eyes, until he realizes that for him to see Josh's eyes, Josh has to be looking at him in turn. So he doesn't move away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Josh's eyes are dark and warm and lively enough that Sam feels like he could fall right into them. They remind him of the night sky, and he wonders if in the flecks of lighter brown he could make stars.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Go to sleep," Josh whispers. He doesn't look away either, and Sam wonders what he sees in Sam's eyes. The atmosphere too, maybe, but at a different time of day. They are two sides of the same sky.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Go to sleep," Sam repeats with a smile. Josh places a hand on Sam's hip and pulls them closer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What's our island called again?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span><em>Our</em>. What a strange and ill-fitting concept for Josh to invoke. Could they ever have anything that was theirs, Sam's and Josh's, theirs alone? Anything that wasn't concealed or borrowed or pretend? Our island. The words stirred up dreams in Sam, and he thinks not for the first time of creating something between the two of them. Sam calls it ill-fitting not because he doesn't want it, but because it's all he's ever wanted and all he's never had.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Catalina."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Josh finally closes his eyes, and then Sam does too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Tell me about it." Josh nudges at Sam's hip, and Sam takes the cue to turn over. To his surprise, Josh wraps his arm around Sam's stomach and curls into him, their backs and hips and legs and feet all pressed together. Sam thinks of butterflies and the chrysalis, and wonders if they stayed curled up together for long enough, would they be able to emerge as a 'together', and a true 'us'? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam talks about the ocean, and the ports, the harbors and the waves and the rocks and the trees and the stars and the lights and the buildings and the flowers and the sand- until Sam can't tell if he's saying any of it out loud. Here he is on a boat at sea, but he's not lost, he is found. Here is Josh standing next to him, flimsy sunglasses pushed high on his nose and a smear of sunscreen left on his forearm. Here is the sand, and here is the sun, and here they both are together. There is no one else on earth but the two of them, and finally they've paid their debts and have nothing else to steal. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The alarm blares once, twice, three and four times before it's turned off. Sam wonders how it got turned off. He blinks and groans, and turns into Josh's neck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Good morning." The light streams in, cool and grey. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Morning." Sam kisses his cheek.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You sleep at all?" Josh asks as he slides away and gets off the bed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sam all at once remembers who he is and who Josh is and exactly where they are. It is July seventeenth, 1997. They are in Flagstaff, Arizona. It is 6:03 A.M. He is Sam Seaborn, the second in command speechwriter. Josh is Josh Lyman, prospective Deputy Chief of Staff for the White House. This is the United States of America, and they are on dry land. Sam is sick to death of it. They need to win. They need to win this thing, and they will win this thing, because Sam <em>will</em> possess something he wants. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I had a dream," he answers. </span>
</p>
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